


Patience

by Born2read



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Angst, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Pining, in the closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Born2read/pseuds/Born2read
Summary: People are always telling Paris that she needs to learn patience. The thing is, she has infinite patience. She’s been waiting for Rory to come out of the closet since they were sixteen.
Relationships: Paris Geller/Rory Gilmore
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	Patience

“We’re getting a divorce,” she tells Rory, watching out of the corner of her eye for a reaction. They’re prepping dinner in Rory’s apartment, and she’s chopping vegetables when Paris drops this news. She times it carefully for when Rory is too focused on not cutting off a finger. One moment they’re talking about work, and then she’s sharing life-altering news.

One would think that she would get more of a reaction.

All she gets is a slight downturn of lips, carefully painted into place. It’s not even a full frown--frown adjacent, maybe. “I’m sorry, Paris.” There is, however, a pause in the rhythmic sound of knife against cutting board, so she will have to call that a win.

_Are you really?_ She wants to ask but doesn’t. They’re not supposed to talk about it. It’s their unspoken (except for that one time when they _did_ talk about it) agreement. So, she tells her it’s okay even though it isn’t (she may not have been in love with Doyle, but it’s a loss, and Paris is still alone, and she still doesn’t have…), and Paris seeks comfort when Rory sets aside the knife to slide her slender arms around her shoulders in a hug.

They don’t hug often.

Hardly ever, in fact.

But Paris knows every curve of her shoulders, every inch of her skin, and every expression Rory has ever made since the day they met.

(Paris also remembers what Rory’s lips feel like against hers, knows how her moans sound echoing in her ears, and what her face does during an orgasm).

* * *

“We should get drunk,” Paris suggests on the day the papers are served. Maybe she’s taking advantage of the situation, but fuck, it’s been so long, and regardless of the circumstances, she’s allowed to seek comfort from her divorce. Right?

Rory eyes her carefully. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea right now, Paris.”

It’s not a rejection, not really, but it still stings like one. It’s not like they have sex every time they get drunk together (though it happens more often than not). It’s also not like Rory needs to be drunk (but it is the only time Rory will ever initiate), but Paris doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants, not directly, not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to Rory.

“Why not?” She asks.

Her answer is those big, sad Bambi eyes. “You know why,” she says softly.

It sends a thrill through Paris at the innuendo in her tone. She gets so little admission from Rory, so few acknowledgments that it feels like a long drink after days without water when she does. And sure, it might be pathetic to scramble after whatever scraps she can get, but it is what it is at this point. At any rate, that Rory can _imply_ that she wants her, that drinking would lead to Something happening, well, it only serves to encourage her.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you break up?” And maybe there’s a challenge in her tone as she adds, “Go out and drink.”

Sure, she might be hoping for more than getting drunk with a friend, but Rory doesn’t have to _know_ ; she doesn’t have to confirm it for her.

“I think,” she says slowly; Paris is fascinated by the slow trail her tongue makes across her lips as she hesitates to continue. “I think that you can mourn the loss of your relationship in whatever way makes you feel better. It doesn’t _have_ to include alcohol.”

“I want to get drunk.”

* * *

Rory invites Lane along. Paris will also count this as a win. Maybe it’s been too long for Rory, too (3 years, eight months, and two days since her wedding day; since she and Rory last…). She doesn’t often feel the need to invite a babysitter.

She tries not to dwell on what it could mean, but the entire time they’re getting ready, it’s all Paris can think about.

Maybe she thinks Paris needs girly moral support. Possibly she hopes that the presence of Lane will mean she keeps her hands to herself.

Whatever the reason, the three of them gather ready in Rory’s apartment. While they contemplate clothing options, Lane lines three shots up on the counter. She grimaces but welcomes the burn.

“How do we feel about this divorce?”

The question comes from Lane, but as Paris is ever aware of Rory, she sees how her attention snaps to the conversation. Her interest in the plaid skirt in her hands is forgotten. “Sad, obviously,” Rory supplies.

Lane shakes her head. “Some people are happy to be divorced. I don’t want to assume. But it could determine outfit choices.” Picking up a low-cut top, she waves it around. “If she were aiming to get laid, for instance, she might wear this.” She sighs a little as she adds, “she has the boobs for it.”

Now Rory’s eyes are on her chest, and Paris feels warm.

“If she just wants to feel good about herself and have a good time, she might wear…” Lane trails off, picking up a solid-colored sweater, “something like this.”

Catching Rory’s eye, Paris grabs the low-cut top. She counts it as another win when Rory swallows hard.

* * *

When they finally make it to the bar, they’re all a little tipsy. “I’m buying drinks,” Lane announces and disappears, leaving her alone with Rory.

As much as she likes Lane, Paris prefers this.

Rory hasn’t said much since they finished getting ready, but now she gestures to Paris’ outfit. “Should I start looking for a potential one-night stand?”

Shrugging, she scans the crowd, already knowing that no one there is going to attract her attention. “I’m not going to force it.”

At this, Rory visibly relaxes. “Good. I think--you’re probably in too vulnerable a state. Usually, people do this a little after the divorce is finalized. I think.”

It was hard to say, consider Paris is the first one that they know who is divorced, Christopher and Luke aside--but those are different situations.

“I’m not vulnerable,” Paris scoffs. “Do you think I’m broken-hearted over this, Gilmore?”

She shrugs.

“I’m _relieved_.”

What she and Doyle had was… special, and she had undoubtedly cared for him very deeply. But Paris had never been in love with him. That had become more and more clear as they went through life together as a married couple. She had been living a lie with him. It hadn’t been fair to either of them, something she probably should have realized when her mouth was between Rory’s legs at her wedding reception.

Before Rory can say anything, Lane is back, shoving drinks into their hands. “Drink up,” she insists.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Lane has to leave because of _somethingsomething children_. Honestly, Paris hadn’t been paying too much attention. All that matters, all that has registered in her brain, is that she’ll be alone with Rory.

More or less, given that they’re in a public place, but she’ll take what she can get.

“Zach can’t handle it?” Rory asks, sounding a little fearful.

“I don’t bite,” Paris says, pouting.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll spend the night some other night. Sorry, Paris.”

“Go, go take care of your kids.” She’s pretty sure there are two of them, at any rate. Either way, Lane leaves. “She’s a real one, Lane,” Paris tells Rory.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Not that much,” she admits.

“Time to order you another drink.”

* * *

They leave not long after that. Sitting at a bar is, honestly, only so much fun. Rory’s fingers fumble on the lock as she lets them into her apartment. “Holding up, okay?”

Paris laughs, dropping her purse onto the coffee table. “I told you, I’m not broken up about this.”

“Just checking.” As if her feelings could have changed between now and then.

It’s silent for a beat, and then Rory closes the distance between them, cupping her face in her hands. Paris falls to the couch, pulling the other girl with her. They’re all fumbling hands and sloppy kisses, but she doesn’t even care because she missed this, missed _her_.

Before either of them can talk about what’s happening, they’ve tossed their clothes aside, Rory is on her knees between her legs, and Paris’s head falls back against the couch as her fingers tangle in the brunette’s hair.

* * *

Four orgasms (each) and one food break later; they’re naked and cuddled up in Rory’s bed. Paris thinks that maybe they finally got it right. This time will be different. Their legs are tangled, and Paris exhales soft, pressing a kiss to Rory’s temple. “Some of our best yet,” she says, breaking the agreement.

Rory hums in agreement, sleepy.

* * *

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, wake in the middle of the night for another round (or two) of sex, and in the morning, they share breakfast, laugher, and kisses. They’re finally together, and all is as it should be.

* * *

What happens is: they do fall asleep in each other’s arms, and they do wake in the middle of the night for sex. Paris dreams about what their future is going to hold.

In the morning, however, she wakes to an empty bed. The way Rory won’t look at her when she finally emerges from the bedroom, naked, Paris knows that none of those dreams are going to come true today.

There’s no breakfast, but there is coffee. Paris wraps her fingers around the cup, holding tight as if the force of her grip will keep her heart from breaking. Doyle telling her he wanted a divorce hadn’t hurt like this, and Rory hasn’t even said anything yet.

But she knows what’s coming. It’s the same thing that always happens after they sleep together. Rory will either pretend nothing happened and things will be awkward between them for a few weeks, or she’ll ask Paris to forget it.

Paris goes along with it every time. She’s just not so sure that she’ll be able to do so this time.

“You never told me,” Rory starts, staring down into her coffee, “why you and Doyle are getting a divorce.”

Paris sighs, sagging into her chair. “We were both unhappy. We should never have been married in the first place.” But she’d grown tired of asking Rory to be with her and _really_ be with her, and she’d cared for Doyle. Thought she’d loved him. She laughs bitterly. “Probably should have seen this coming the day we got married.”

When Rory flinches, she feels a pinch of short-lived satisfaction.

Feeling very tired--the kind of tired that a cup of coffee could never even begin to cure--Paris eyes her friend, her lover, the woman she’d walk through fire for. “Is this how it’s always going to be?”

“What?” But the way Rory won’t meet her eyes, she knows that Rory knows exactly what she’s asking.

Because she’s a glutton for punishment, and because they always fucking avoid it, she clarifies. “We have sex, and you pretend like it never happened? Is it always going to be like this? Are you never going to admit that you love me back?” She doesn’t mean for her voice to break on the question, but it wavers, and she squares her shoulders as if to counteract the vulnerability. _This is vulnerable_ , she wants to tell Rory.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I just… I can’t.”

Sighing, Paris puts her face in her hands. The only sound in the kitchen for a moment is a clock ticking somewhere. Eventually, she forces a smile onto her face, and she straightens up. Her voice is robotic. “Thanks for helping me work through this divorce, Rory.”

The relief on Rory’s face shouldn’t soothe any of her aches, but it does. Just a little. So does the apology written in her eyes. She knows how badly this hurts her every time.

People are always telling Paris that she needs to learn patience. The thing is, she has infinite patience. She’s been waiting for Rory to come out of the closet since they were sixteen.

She’ll go on patiently waiting because, someday, she may finally be ready.


End file.
